Once in Jr. High, I engaged in a game of rugby (or as close as one could get weighing a mere 95lbs at a small private school in Provo, UT). During the 'game', I was completely blindsided. After pulling my face out of the dirt, there was a moment when I tasted both blood and clarity. Everything seemed to possess a pure obviousness while simultaneously exploding. It was a strange and intense experience.
This same feeling washed over me after putting down 'End Zone'. I really shouldn't have been surprised. I've been hit hard by DeLillo before, many times in fact. 'Mao II' and 'Libra' both left me flat on my back. 'White Noise' and 'Underworld' both hinted at, promised some grand apotheosis about life or the world.
'End Zone' delves into language, war, men, and death. It's also about football. But don't be misled; war is not football, only football is football and only war is war. DeLillo desires to play linguistic games at Logos College. He wants to push language across the field, have blood in the syntax and grass in the prose. He envisions his gladiators speaking prose poems, taking courses in "the untellable", discussing Wittgenstein, or screaming in German. He wants a university separated from the world, isolated in Texas, in a space that exists almost separately from everything but football and fat girls. He aims to explore the chants of men, the dialogue of competition. The book could have easily devolved into a silly farce, a parade of prose, or an onanistic literary game, but DeLillo approaches it with such subversive energy that he makes you forget who is holding the ball or why the game even matters.